


Anti-kink: Mile High Club

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airplane Sex, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next cross-posting of anti-kink fic  (series archived <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ash_carpenter&keyword=Anti-kink&filter=all">here</a> on LJ)! Slowly, but surely, I'm getting there...</p><p>This one features the Mile High Club. Oh, yes. Because we all know that Dean loves planes.</p><p>Oh, and a sensitivity curse from a gnome. No, really. Because I thought Sam needed to be more caring and sharing :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Mile High Club

** Mile High Club **

 

The thing about gnomes – the thing that it would have been really useful to know _before_ barrelling in and taking the time to taunt them about their short stature and big noses instead of immediately shooting them in the face – is that they can cast curses.

And the ugly little bastards have a warped sense of humour.

“What the hell, Bobby?!” yelled Dean down the phone, glaring out of the window at Sam, who was singing to himself as he picked a handful of daisies.

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy! It ain’t my fault you’re an idjit.”

“You didn’t even mention curses!”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to stop and waste time insulting the supernatural killers before ganking them. Because what the hell kind of useless, brain-dead morons would do that?!”

“Us!” shouted Dean in exasperation. “You couldn’t see that coming? Seriously?”

There was silence for a moment as Bobby considered that. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I can’t believe you…Oh, Jesus Christ.”

“What is it?” demanded Bobby anxiously.

“Perfect. He’s hugging a tree. I hope you’re happy, Bobby.”

“He’s…”

“Yes. Hugging. A tree. Wait, he’s letting go…Oh fuck, now he’s trying to play with a couple of pre-schoolers. Look, I gotta go before he gets arrested. Just…find a way to break it.”

Bobby flinched as the dial tone filled his ear, rolling his eyes at the latest in a long line of Winchester-based dramas.

“Idjits.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the gnome had cast the curse – an unfortunate half-second before Dean’s well-placed bullet had exploded through his skull and thereby prevented him from being able to lift the damn thing – Dean had thought it would be kind of awesome.

Of course, he’d thought that the little guy had meant “sensitive” in the physical sense.

Before the curse had kicked in, Sam still shaking his head like a spaniel to rid himself of the black soot that was apparently the gnome equivalent of fairy dust, Dean had been thinking up all the fun he was duty-bound to have.

Placing ice cubes on Sam’s neck, maybe getting one of those ‘shock’ buzzer things, flicking his ear lobes, jacking up the music in the car…Really, the list of things to try was endless.

Then of course were the slightly more steamy – and considerably less brotherly – applications. Sam tended to thrash around and babble incoherently anyway while getting his prostate nailed, so what would he be like when extra sensitive? Dean couldn’t wait to find out.

Couldn’t wait to such an extent, as it happened, that he felt the need to launch himself on Sam before they’d even managed to get back in the car.

Slamming him against the passenger door, Dean had immediately rubbed up against him like a cat, shoving his hand down the back of Sam’s pants and sliding them teasingly down his crack. Kissing his neck and nipping eagerly at him, he’d whispered low and rough, “Wanna get you so hot, Sammy…Love seeing you lose control for me…”

He’d been somewhat surprised – and highly unamused – when Sam’s face had melted into his sappiest expression and he’d wrapped his arms around Dean in a bear hug.

“Aw, I love you too!” he’d simpered, mashing his lips against Dean’s cheek in a wet, soppy kiss.

“What the…? Oh, God, no…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam, snap out of it! It’s a curse, okay? Bobby’s dealing with it.”

“Not a curse, Dean. A blessing,” smiled Sam serenely. “It can’t really be a bad thing to take time to listen to the birds, can it? Or notice the colour of the sky?”

“Oh, for the love of…The sky’s blue, Sam. The sky’s blue, the birds are annoying, and an ugly little troll turned you into a wussy douchbag! Well, wussier.”

“Have you smelled these?” asked Sam, stuffing a fistful of daisies into Dean’s face. “They’re lovely.”

Dean batted his brother’s hand away, spitting out a petal. “Stop that!”

“Yeah, okay,” agreed Sam amiably, taking a big sniff of the flowers – weeds, really – despite the fact that they smelled vaguely of motor oil on account of having grown next to a motel car park.

“No, don’t…” Dean stopped, taking a deep breath and trying desperately to control his irritation. “Not ‘yeah, okay’, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Are you doing that on purpose?”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just…stop being annoying.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Sam!”

Sam’s face crumpled slightly at his brother’s harsh tone, and Dean sighed, feeling bad. Right up until Sam sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him, making a ‘come on’ gesture with the other hand.

He smiled encouragingly – and thoroughly patronisingly – at Dean. “I think someone needs to share his feelings. I’m here to listen, Dean. I support your right to be frustrated.”

Dean heroically managed to prevent himself from punching Sam in the face.

“Curse. It’s a curse,” he murmured to himself in a little mantra. Sam wasn’t responsible for his actions.

“You need to relax. Why don’t you lay down and I’ll give you a massage?”

Irritated or not, Dean couldn’t help but be tempted by that. Sam’s ‘massages’ were legendary – deep and relaxing and invariably ending up with mind-blowing orgasms. Momentarily forgetting all about gnomes and the threat of having to talk about his feelings, Dean smiled lustfully at his brother and sidled over, sitting beside him on the bed and sliding a hand into his hair. “Massage, huh? I could go for that. Well, why don’t you get the lube and I’ll get naked…?”

Sam gave Dean a fond and mildly disapproving look. “I think it would do you more good to meditate a little and really _feel_ the therapeutic value of the massage, Dean. It doesn’t always have to be about sex, you know.”

“Oh, fuck you,” growled Dean, disgustedly pushing himself off the bed and stomping out of the room as he adjusted his crotch, slamming the door behind him.

Goddamned gnomes fucking with his sex life. That shit wasn’t cool.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Hawaii. Sorry, kid.”

“What?! We’re in New York! To get there by Friday we’ll have to fly! There’s no time for a boat.”

“Jesus, Dean. Most folks would be happy about going on vacation.”

“Flying, Bobby. On a plane.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were gonna flap your arms and wish real hard,” muttered the other hunter.

“And for what? To get to a state full of spirits and deities!”

“Yeah, boo hoo. You have to fly to Hawaii, the land of white beaches and coconut drinks. Let me get my violin.”

“No need to get sarcastic…”

“Suck it up, boy. You’re lucky the gnome was from Hawaii and its uhane – spirit – has to travel there to leap to the next world. So you’re gonna go there and speak to a high priestess who should be able to contact him before he makes the leap and bargain with him. Unless you want your brother to be Mr. Sensitive for the rest of your lives?”

“So…Delta or Continental?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was actually in less of a state of panic than he’d expected, and wondered whether perhaps he was getting used to flying, facing his phobia in a mature, well-adjusted fashion.

Of course, it was more likely because he’d been thoroughly distracted by Sam, who needed constant watching lest he make a mess emoting all over the place.

“It’s all about self-actualisation, Betty. You’re only going to be happy once you feel that you’re realising your full potential. And it sounds to me like your job just isn’t fulfilling your need to develop and grow as a person.”

Betty, who was a checkout cashier at her local Wal-mart, nodded eagerly, although Dean wasn’t sure that she had the faintest idea what Sam was wittering on about.

He patted Sam’s arm, regretting placing him in the aisle seat. “Sammy? Why don’t you let the nice lady get back to her magazine?”

Sam gave a sigh that somehow managed to sound patient. “I know that you don’t go in for this kind of stuff, Dean, but I think Betty’s finding it really helpful. I think part of her is crying out to discuss her feelings – and that’s why she started talking to me.”

“She asked if you had the time.”

He faltered slightly. “Well, yeah, but…She could probably sense that I was prepared to listen to her and acknowledge her pain.”

Dean noticed over Sam’s shoulder that Betty had signalled the flight attendant and asked if there were any spare seats she could move to. Apparently, the theory about chicks digging sensitive guys was, as Dean had always suspected, utter bullcrap. In fact, being overly sensitive made even someone as smoking hot as Sam repel women.

“Sam? How about you stop acknowledging and understanding and empathising for just a minute, huh? Why don’t you see if there are any decent movies to watch?”

Sam nodded agreeably and Dean thought that he’d unexpectedly earned himself a brief respite, but suddenly his hand was snatched up and squeezed in what could only be described as a reassuring fashion.

Sam took the trouble to wait until Dean was looking at him with full, undivided attention, before saying, “I know that you’re nervous about the flight and looking for distraction. And that’s _okay_ , Dean. You don’t have to project onto me. I promise you that no-one here thinks you’re less of a man because you have an irrational phobia. It’s not pathetic or emasculating.”

Dean gaped at Sam, wondering for just a moment whether that little speech was nothing to do with the curse at all and his brother was just fucking with him.

“Excuse me?” he asked, failing to keep the outrage out of his voice.

Sam patted his hand fondly. “Don’t worry, Dean. You’re still my hero.”

“Oh, God.” Dean groaned and leaned forward, deliberately smacking his head a couple of times against the seat in front. After a stern glare between the seats from the woman in the next row, he leaned back again, trying to ignore Sam’s adoring look.

He resolutely was not finding it cute or flattering.

“I love you.”

“Dude, just shut up!” squeaked Dean, casting a glance around as if the Incest Police might rush up and cause a scene. When Sam grinned and pushed closer to him, nuzzling up against him and resting a shaggy head on his shoulder, he rolled his eyes.

Quickly verifying that no-one was paying any attention, he dropped a swift kiss to Sam’s head and whispered, “I love you too. Sap.”

Then the engines roared to life and he remembered that he was, you know, _on a plane_. He tensed all over, jaw clenching.

“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die listening to your life affirmations. This sucks.” Sam lifted his head, clearly determined to offer support. Dean snagged a handful of hair and forced him back down onto his shoulder with a hollow thunk. “Shut up. Don’t comfort me. Don’t help. Just don’t talk at all…I guess you can hold my hand, if you want. Shut up.”

Sam smiled against his shoulder. “You’re a beautiful, unique snowflake.”

Now Dean was pretty sure his brother was just fucking with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apparently, being cursed with incredible sensitivity wasn’t quite enough to prevent Sam Winchester from being a pissy little bitch.

“Dean. I understand that you’re scared – and I’m here for you, I am – but seriously. That’s the fiftieth goddamned time in a row that you’ve hummed _Enter Sandman_ and if you don’t stop I’m going to have to have to strangle you with a life jacket. I love you, and I respect your freedom of speech and right to life, but you’re probably the most annoying person on the entire planet.” He took a deep breath, before hurriedly adding, “And that’s _okay_.”

“Sorry, sorry,” muttered Dean, too embarrassed to get annoyed. He was trying to rationalise away his fear, but no matter how much he berated himself for being a scared little girl while on a perfectly safe aircraft (while he routinely and deliberately hunted things that wanted to kill him), he couldn’t stop his chest clenching or his palms sweating. It was pathetic, really.

“It’s fine,” assured Sam. “You’re allowed to be vulnerable. Quietly. Look, do you need a sick bag?”

“No!” snapped Dean. “I’m fine! I just ne…” he trailed off, green around the gills, and his cheeks puffed out a little. Coughing, voice strained, he said, “Could you just pass me a –”

“Sick bag?”

“Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how hard Dean glared at Sam, he wouldn’t stop stroking his back ‘comfortingly’ while he puked. And Dean was too busy with the aforementioned puking to growl at him to back off.

“Alright, Dean, get it all up. That’s it. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly natural. Look – someone over there is being sick too.”

Dean spared a glance to the side to spot a tearful three year old clutching a half full bag in pudgy hands while her mommy stroked her back in much the same fashion as Sam was doing to him.

“Oh, well, if a little girl is doing it…” croaked Dean sarcastically.

“That’s the spirit,” smiled Sam serenely, letting the caustic words slide off him with equanimity.

It was freaking annoying.

Finally, Dean got himself together. Or ran out of stuff to throw up.

Sam gave him a supportive smile and then took his bag to hand to the unprofessionally disgusted flight attendant before swiping at his mouth with a spit-dampened tissue. The sad thing was that Dean felt too drained to stop him.

“All better,” said Sam brightly, before leaning in and pecking a kiss to Dean’s temple. He quickly reeled back, which gave Dean an unreasonable little flare of satisfaction. “Uh, maybe we’ll just get you a breath mint.”

Half a pack of extra strong and a quick power nap later to the dulcet tones of Bon Jovi – what? – from Sam’s iPod, Dean was feeling much more human. It had been a smooth flight with no real turbulence and, besides, the toddler who’d been puking her guts out too was now happily eating a candy bar while kicking holy hell out of the seat in front, so Dean supposed he ought to man up.

Apparently, he looked a lot more human too, if Sam’s increasingly lascivious glance was anything to go by.

Dean blushed under the scrutiny. “Dude,” he hissed. “Stop it.”

“Why?”

Dean tried to fix him with a stern look, but failed, grin sliding onto his face before he could prevent it. “Behave, would you? We can’t do anything up here.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What, you never heard of the mile high club?”

Dean gaped at him. True, Sam often surprised him with very non-vanilla kinks – most of which ended in disaster, actually, not that they ever learned – but he hadn’t expected this. In general, Sam was a law-abiding goody two-shoes who didn’t want to run the risk of scandalising the public at large.

Well. Apart from the weapons carrying, grave desecration, breaking and entering, credit card fraud, theft, grievous bodily harm, murder and public sex. Oh, and incest.

Hrm.

Anyway, the point was that it came as a bit of a shock, particularly since Dean had sort of thought that being even more sensitive than usual would prevent Sam from wanting to have a nasty, dirty, probably uncomfortable, high risk hook-up. But evidently he was wrong.

Things were looking up.

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. You’re still tense and I think the distraction would help. It’ll be affirming for you.”

Dean wasn’t really sure how he felt about getting a pity fuck because he was a giant girl and his brother was accommodating that fact, stupid indulgent look plastered all over his chiselled face with its sexy, smouldering eyes, while his big hand slid down and framed his groin…

Actually, no, he was cool with it.

“Pity fuck for the win.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Sure you’re not worried about getting caught?”

Sam shrugged. “What are they gonna do? Throw us off the plane? Besides, there’s nothing wrong with it, Dean. We’re two adults who love each other and sex is just a healthy expression of that.”

Dean rolled his eyes heavenward. “Kill me now.” Turning towards Sam, he gave him a tight smile and took his hand. “Sammy? I’m pretty sure that when you’re brothers, sex is considered an _un_ healthy expression of your feelings for one another.”

Sam frowned. “Are you saying that you don’t want to screw in the bathroom?”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. He’d never claimed to be healthy. “Oh, no. I want to screw in the bathroom.”

“That’s what I thought.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, it wasn’t all that easy for two grown men to sneak into the same airplane cubicle without being seen.

“The bathrooms are right by the flight crew’s station. And they’re in the line of sight of, like, the whole plane,” hissed Dean as they walked up the aisle.

“Yeah, it’s almost like the airline doesn’t want people to fuck.”

Dean pursed his lips. Why couldn’t the gnome have cursed Sam by taking away his primary weapon of bitchy sarcasm? Or perhaps by making him mute? That would have rocked.

“Okay, so, what’s the plan, genius?”

“I’ll go in, leave the door unlocked, and you can follow in one minute. No-one’s gonna be paying attention to see if I come back out or not.”

“Okay. Wait, why do you get to go first?”

“Because you’re more conspicuous than me – people might notice if you don’t come out.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “ _I’m_ more conspicuous? I’m not the one who’s seven feet tall and wider than a barn door.”

“No, but you are the one who’s so beautiful that people just can’t help staring,” said Sam softly.

A little taken aback, Dean had barely managed a pleased smile before Sam shouldered his way into the nearest bathroom – unhindered by so much as a murmur of protest – and he realised that he might have been played.

Stupid distracting brothers.

He hadn’t even managed to scowl at the unfairness of the situation before Sam suddenly reappeared with a pained look on his face, practically barrelling right into him.

“What…?”

“Yeah, we’re not going in there. Some unfortunate person has apparently had stomach problems. Poor guy.”

“Oh. Not too sexy, huh?”

“If you could get it up in there without half a bottle of Viagra and a crane, I’d have to assume you had a serious medical condition.”

“Your eyes are watering.”

Sam nodded weakly, taking in another huge breath of comparatively fresh air and thinking how much less fun that had been than his last autopsy on a week-old corpse. “Yeah, that wasn’t good. Let’s try the one on the other side.”

Thirty seconds later, Dean was standing awkwardly by the door to the bathroom, waiting for his moment to slip inside.

He quickly reached out to block the path of an overweight, middle-aged lady in an ill-advised pink tracksuit as she headed for the bathroom, thinking that Sam might get quite the shock if he wasn’t careful.

“That one’s taken.”

“It says unoccupied,” she said defiantly, attempting to step around Dean.

“Yeah, but I saw someone go in. He must have left the door unlocked.”

She tried to go around the other side. “I’ll just try.”

“No,” replied Dean firmly, trying desperately to remain polite. “Like I said, it’s occupied. There’s another one right over there.” He pointed helpfully.

“So why don’t you go over there instead of waiting for this one?” she asked suspiciously.

“Uh…” Inspiration struck him. “’Cause whoever was in there before was ill.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Well, I guess I’ll wait for this one too.”

Oh, crap.

“No. You can’t.”

“What do you mean, I can’t? I’ll wait for whatever bathroom I damned well want to.”

“Listen, lady,” growled Dean, right at the end of his patience. “Why don’t you take your big pink a–”

“Dean?” The door opened a crack and Sam peeked out. “What are you…Oh.”

“Oh my God!” squeaked the woman. “Are you two… _fooling around_ in there?!”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” muttered Dean.

“That’s disgusting!” she continued, outraged. “You can’t just do sordid, dirty things with your boyfriend in a public place; there are children on this flight!”

“We can understand your position,” said Sam calmly, “and we acknowledge that you are entitled to your point of view.”

“Actually, we’re not boyfriends. He’s my brother,” announced Dean, as if to counteract any progress that Sam might have made in defusing the situation.

Her mouth fell open in a shocked gasp. Sam took the opportunity of her silence to reach out and pull Dean through the door, slamming it in her face and locking it.

“She probably needs time to process,” he rationalised sympathetically as he pulled Dean tight to his body. Not that he had to do a lot of pulling, he couldn’t help but notice as Dean wriggled around, struggling to find somewhere to put his feet that wasn’t on top of Sam’s shoes and didn’t involve him planting his ass in the sink.

“Bit cosy...”

“Kinda not complaining,” smiled Sam as he slid his hands up inside Dean’s shirt without preamble, kissing his neck.

Dean moaned, letting his head drop back slightly. Unfortunately, slightly was all it took to smack against the wall in the cramped space.

“Ow!” he pouted.

Sam chuckled, reaching back to rub his hand over Dean’s head and kissing the end of his nose. “Poor baby.”

“Screw you,” replied Dean good-naturedly, grabbing his brother’s ass and leaning into him, kissing him hard. Within moments, they were pawing at one another, making out passionately and grinding their rapidly hardening cocks together.

“Yeah, that’s it, Sammy. Wanna fuck you so bad,” breathed Dean huskily.

He was just settling his hand on Sam’s cock when the plane gave an unexpected shudder, throwing Dean into Sam, who tripped back and ended up sitting on the toilet with Dean landing sprawled on top of him. Dean flailed out a hand to try to save himself as he went down, but achieved nothing more than activating the flush with a loud whooshing sound.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Relax,” soothed Sam patronisingly. “That was just the automatic flush.”

“Not that, asshat! I know what a fucking toilet sounds like! Is the plane crashing?!”

“Huh? Oh.” Sam shook his head indulgently, rubbing his hand over Dean’s back. “No, baby. Just a little turbulence.”

“Don’t call me baby! And don’t treat me like a...baby.”

Sam nodded placatingly, even though they both knew that Dean really liked being called ‘baby’ when they were intimate. His poor, adorable brother always overcompensated when he was scared, although it probably wouldn’t be too tactful to point that out. Not if he wanted to get laid.

“Okay, sure. But it’s perfectly normal for the airplane to lurch a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” replied Dean uncertainly, trying to push himself back to a standing position and setting off the flush again. He rolled his eyes and finally managed to get upright, knees bent awkwardly and foot twisted around. There seemed to be even less room with Sam sitting down and Dean eyed him crossly. Stupid overgrown gigantor.

“So how are we gonna do this? It’s gonna be like playing freakin’ Tetris.”

“Well...I could stand there and you could...rest on there.”

“Okay, first off? I’m not sitting in the goddamned sink. And second of all, I’m fucking you. I mean, you’re the one who got hit with girl disease and everything.”

Sam shrugged in tacit agreement. Aw, overcompensation. It was so cute.

“Sure. I guess I could lean against the sink. If I scooch down a bit you’ll probably be tall enough to make love to me.”

Dean couldn’t really decide whether he was more annoyed about the dig at his height or the fact that they were apparently about to ‘make love’ instead of fuck.

“Shut up and take off your pants.”

Sam frowned slightly. “That doesn’t make me feel very special, Dean. It hurts when you deliberately kill the romance.”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped from Dean before he could stop it. “Romance? Dude, I wiped your butt when we were kids and we share at least fifty percent of our DNA. I don’t think romance was ever on the cards. Which is probably why we’re trying to have skeevy sex in an airplane bathroom...”

“Skeevy?” said Sam, voice small and wounded. Dean realised with a guilty pang that his brother was genuinely hurt; he had to remember that even though they both knew Sam was cursed, it didn’t make the emotions the kid was feeling any less strong.

With a long-suffering sigh, softening his tone, Dean tipped Sam’s chin up and leaned down to say, “I’m sorry, okay, sweetheart? You know I love you and I’m sure the sex...uh, love-making, will be...beautiful.” He followed it up with a gentle, sweet kiss to the pouting mouth.

God, the things he did to get laid.

Sam smiled winningly, all bashful and dimpled, and Dean admitted to himself that he’d probably present him with flowers and poems and a sparkly diamond ring if he really wanted it. It wasn’t even funny how whipped he was.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and nuzzled against his stomach. “This is going to be so special.”

Dean grimaced slightly, giving Sam an awkward pat on the head. “Yeah, okay, Sammy. So...?”

Sam stood up, staring deeply into Dean’s eyes he reached down and unfastened his pants. “You’re so beautiful. Your eyes are amazing, all green and soulf–”

Dean quickly cut him off by kissing him, carding on hand through his hair while he wrapped the other tightly around him, rubbing it over the muscular back and perfect, round ass. He helpfully shoved at Sam’s pants to try to get him semi-naked as quickly as possible, then slipping his hand into his boxers and playing over his crack.

As they pulled apart to take a breath, Sam continued. “Soulful. I could stare at you for hours.”

“Sammy?”

“Mmm?” questioned Sam as Dean pulled both of their dicks free of their clothing and gave them a couple of slow, gliding tugs.

“Wouldn’t this be more special if we didn’t ruin it with words?”

Sam made an ‘aw, that’s so sweet’ face and nodded happily. Dean breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief.

It took them almost a full minute of awkward shuffling, complete with the odd grunted curse and a couple of misplaced elbows to the ribs before Sam was leaning up against the built-in sink and Dean was pressing up against him, groping at his junk as he rocked against him. Dean licked open Sam’s mouth with a soft sweep of his tongue and then delved inside, sucking at his lips.

It did occur to him that someone was probably going to start banging on the door any minute, like maybe the pissed off lady in pink, so he searched around for something to use as lube.

The generic industrial hand soap would probably be fine.

Dean reached over and pumped himself a couple of handfuls, then slid his hand between Sam’s legs, fingering at his opening.

“Okay?” he murmured as he pushed two fingers inside Sam in quick succession, stretching him out while he kept up a steady rhythm on his cock with the other hand. They couldn’t really afford to take their time, but in Sam’s current delicate state Dean didn’t want to be a dick and just shove inside him. He might cry or something.

Sam nodded, gently kissing both of Dean’s cheeks and then the corner of his mouth before resting their foreheads together. “You’re so good to me. So caring.”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Dean swiftly, kissing him again to shut him the hell up. He rutted up against Sam’s cock, crooking his fingers to search out his fun button and get him ready to go. Sam reacted so intensely, panting and writhing and rubbing himself up against Dean like a pussycat, that for a minute Dean wondered whether he had indeed received a bit of a dose of physical sensitivity too. Whatever, it rocked, and Dean was already so fired up that he just couldn’t wait to get inside.

“You ready?” he panted, kissing Sam’s jaw.

“Hold on,” replied Sam, sliding his hands up from Dean’s back and cupping them around his face, holding it so that they were staring into one another’s eyes. “Okay. I want to see you as you slide inside me, so that we’re as connected as we possibly can be.”

“Uh...It would be kinda helpful if I could see what I was doing.”

Pissy Sam put in a minor reappearance in the form of a frown line between the eyes and a terse, “I think you know where my ass is by now.”

Dean bit his tongue to prevent himself from retorting and simply gave an uncomfortable little nod. He probably looked at Sam most of the time when he was fucking him anyway, but being forced to do it made it seem weird.

Wedging himself firmly between Sam’s thighs, he looked directly at him as he fumbled his way inside with full reliance on his hands to guide him, taking some of his brother’s weight as he dipped down and then thrust up into him.

“So intense,” moaned Sam, shuddering and holding Dean’s head tightly, fingers clutching at his short strands of hair. “Don’t you feel it? It’s like we’re the same person. Right, Dean?”

“Ngh?” asked Dean ineloquently, having been somewhat distracted by the oh-fuck-yes sensation in his dick. All he could really think about was hot, tight flesh. And, really, that was all he wanted to think about.

“Our connection. When we make love, it’s like our souls are joining. Like everything inside us is the same. Almost like we’re...”

“Brothers?” suggested Dean irritably. “What have I told you about mentioning incest when we’re fucking?”

“Dean...I was talking about our spirits, not our bodies.”

“Okay, fine. Sure, Sammy. Why don’t we just be quiet and enjoy it?” suggested Dean hopefully, rearranging his brother a little bit and pushing into him harder and faster. It was a good job he was so fucking hot or Dean might have to punch him.

A couple of seconds of blissful silence ensued, and Dean was just allowing himself to get carried away with the pleasure again when he suddenly realised that Sam’s face was all screwed up. Either he had gas or...

“Sam? Sam, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asked with panic, freezing and staring with guilty horror at the wetness on Sam’s cheeks.

Sam sniffed. “No, no. It’s j-j-just...”

“Yeah?” prompted Dean, sliding his hand around Sam’s neck and caressing him.

“Just so beautiful!” sobbed Sam.

“Oh, sweet Jesus...” Dean dropped his head down to Sam’s shoulder for a moment, trying to compose himself and calm his rapidly beating heart. He grimaced as he felt wetness drip down onto his cheek, not daring to check whether it was tears or snot. Sam had always been a gross crier.

“You complete me,” added Sam with a loud sniff.

“Right, that’s it,” said Dean decisively, pulling out. “Turn around.”

“Wha–”

Dean manhandled Sam around – no small feat in the limited space – and bent him forward over the sink, lining up behind him. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I can’t screw you face to face when you’re blubbering. I...respect your right to be pre-menstrual, or whatever, but I don’t need to see it.”

“It’s okay,” snivelled Sam. “I understand. I’m fine.”

“Okay, good boy,” crooned Dean, patting him distractedly on the back as he thrust back into him.

It was a slightly dick move, he realised that, but seriously. Sam would totally forgive him when he was back to normal, because who could be expected to endure that? As a consolation, he reached around and pumped Sam’s still-hard dick while he pounded into him.

Raising his eyes from the rather arresting sight of his cock disappearing into Sam’s sweet ass, Dean looked forward and flinched as he was greeted by the sight of Sam’s red, blotchy, snotty face.

Damn. He’d completely forgotten about the mirror.

“Son of a bitch,” he groaned. This was just fucking typical of his luck. He could happily have lived his whole life without being presented with the life-sized proof that Sam Winchester did indeed cry his way through sex.

“I love you,” Sam wailed adoringly as he stared at Dean in the mirror, chin wobbling, and Dean wondered whether or not he was going to be able to maintain his erection.

He was almost relieved when the plane hit another patch of turbulence.

“Shit!” Dean yelped as the aircraft was buffeted and he was thrown backwards into the door, which was evidently made of somewhat flimsy stuff considering the large dent that his head left in it. Lurching forwards again, slamming into poor Sam, Dean wrapped an arm around him and held tight, leaning over to kiss his neck. “You okay, kiddo?”

He nodded, spreading his legs wider and canting his hips up, which Dean took to mean that getting his prostate nailed was suddenly becoming more important than excessive emoting. Grinning, he resumed his rhythm.

“Uh...Dean,” Sam interrupted a few seconds later, pulling Dean out of his lust fog slightly.

“What? Oh...”

Dean swallowed as he looked into the mirror and saw three shocked and horrified faces staring at him in addition to the slightly weepy one that he was expecting. There was a minor possibility that he’d inadvertently broken the flimsy lock during his fall and nudged the door open.

Turning, he grinned weakly at the flight attendant, his nemesis in pink and – oh, God, really? This was getting more implausible by the minute – a guy in a black shirt and dog collar. Dean’s brain stubbornly refused to acknowledge the word ‘priest’.

“Uh, hey...I can explain,” he said with optimistic conviction.

“Excuse me, _Sir_ ,” gritted out the flight attendant crisply. “But I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the bathrooms. There are other people waiting and the facilities really are designed for one patron at a time.”

“He said that man was his brother!” yelled the woman in pink helpfully.

“Sinners burn in Hell. You should repent before you join their ranks,” added the man.

“Nah, they don’t want us back,” shrugged Dean.

“We should all sit down and talk about this in an open, safe forum where we can explore each other’s point of view,” suggested Sam, gasping when Dean flexed his hips. “Right after I’ve come.”

Dean snorted and slammed the door closed again. They’d just have to deal; he had a snotty, oversensitive brother to fuck.

Sorry, make love to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean...”

“Yeah?” drawled Dean lazily, rolling his head on his seat to look at Sam, feeling all the lethargy of a great orgasm deadening his limbs. He didn’t even care that the plane was giving the occasional bumpy stagger.

Or that, apparently, they could expect to be met by Honolulu PD once they landed, who wanted to have a word with them about public indecency.

“My ass itches.”

“That’s nice, Sammy. Has anyone ever told you that you overshare?”

“That liquid soap didn’t have sodium lauryl sulphate in it, did it?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “You think I was reading the label on the soap when I had your fine ass there waiting to be fucked?”

As if he’d have known what sodium lauryl sulphate was anyway.

“Dean! It’s really abrasive for sensitive skin!”

“I didn’t know you had sensitive skin...?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone’s got sensitive skin on their ass,” huffed Sam.

“Huh. Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out when we get to Honolulu. Once we’re out of jail. And we’ve been to see the high princess and bargained with the gnome spirit to give you back just your normal excessive amount of empathetic, hippy crap. And maybe after food. It’s on the list, anyway.”

“Great,” muttered Sam as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t want to be negative or anything, but being sensitive kinda sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” agreed Dean heartily. Still, he’d had an orgasm at thirty thousand feet, and that almost made it worth it.

“Dean, I think we should share our feelings about the consummation we just shared.”

Almost.

 

 

THE END  



End file.
